


To Hell and Back

by UndeadRobin



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Cannibalism, Death, Drug Addiction, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pining, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, This surprises no one, and pain, lots of death, please save these characters from me, the BoS are jerks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-07-05 20:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15870975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndeadRobin/pseuds/UndeadRobin
Summary: Three lucky Dwellers from the privately-owned Vault 714 are chosen to go into the world and bring fame and fortune to the Vault. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. A Secretary Walks Into a Bar...

The man was hunched over at a table by himself, a beer held loosely in one hand with several other bottles surrounding him. His hair was a disheveled mop, and his blue-and-yellow jumpsuit was mottled with a variety of stains. He muttered along to the music in the bar, off-beat and off-key.

Madeline didn’t want to approach a washed-up mess like him, but Overseer Macintyre had been very specific.

”Mr. Kent,” she said as she walked over to the table. He showed no sign that he’d heard her, but she pressed on regardless. “I need to speak with you about a matter concerning the welfare of the Vault.”

He gave a disinterested half-grunt and went back to his muttering.

”Mr. Kent, this is an issue of great import,” she continued.

Nothing.

 _I don’t get enough for this job,_ she thought to herself as she grabbed the bottle away from Kent, setting it aside on a nearby table.

That got the man’s attention. He jerked up, disgruntled, his stubble bristling.

“‘Ey,” he slurred, “‘gives? S’drinkin’ that.”

“And you can go back to drinking it once we’re finished speaking,” Madeline snapped. “Overseer Macintyre has sent me to tell you about an employment opportunity.”

Finally, with his drink gone, Mr. Kent decided to pay attention. “Fine. ‘N’ wha’s this… opportunity?”

She grabbed a manila folder from the files in her left hand, setting it on the table and sliding it over to the man. “Mr. Kent, to put this plainly, Overseer Macintyre is well aware of your past occupation as a Raider.”

At this, Kent finally seemed to sober up. His eyes went wide as he glanced around the bar. It was blessedly empty.

“Wanna say that a little louder?” he growled. “If people know ‘bout what I used to do, I’m finished here.”

“Relax, Mr. Kent,” said Madeline. “Mr. Macintyre has no intention of telling any of your fellow Vault residents a thing. However, considering what you used to do, he’s interested to see if you’d like to go into a similar line of work — this time, as a hero.”

“No. No way in hell,” he said. “I’m not going out in the wasteland again.”

“He thought you might say that,” Madeline remarked. She tapped the folder with a well-manicured finger. “But if you decide to take Mr. Macintyre up on the offer, he’s willing to make it worth your while.”

Kent glared at Madeline, but he picked up the folder anyway, scanning it. The front was empty, but the tab bore a title in small black lettering:

**WASTELANDER PROGRAM**

He opened it, searching its contents. He stopped halfway through, eyes widening for a fraction of a second. His gaze grew intense as he read. After a long moment, he looked back up at Madeline, his eyes hungry.

“I’m listening.”

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Kent was sitting in a booth with his arms folded. Across from him, Madeline was explaining the details of the offer.

“Mr. Macintyre is aware that what he’s asking you to do will not be an easy job,” she continued. “But you won’t be doing it alone. There are several other candidates for the program, and two prime choices aside from yourself. If you choose to accept the offer, you’ll be working in a team of three. Each of you will be—“

“Whoa,” Kent said, waving a hand. “Wait a minute. You’re bringing other people into this? Who thought that was a good idea?”

“The Overseer,” Madeline quipped. “With all due respect, Mr. Kent, a great deal of thought was put into the creation of this program. A small, elite team will be able to perform far better than a lone operative, and with only three members, potential loss of life is kept to a minimum.”

Kent didn’t seem convinced, but he let her continue.

“Now, as I was saying, each of you will be well-armed and well-trained. We’re not sending you out into the wasteland completely unprepared. We already have several contacts established who are willing to possibly provide aid in the event that you require it. Your missions will be simple, and while they may be dangerous, the rewards will be great.”

He nodded along. He still wasn’t entirely sure about this whole concept. Sending three Dwellers out into the wasteland to scavenge for spare parts? What was Overseer James hoping for? What could he possibly be after?

Still, from what this secretary was saying, Kent figured he’d get a substantial pay raise. His job at the power plant wasn’t exactly fulfilling, and it was blue-collar work, which meant blue-collar pay. This new gig had some promise.

“When does the Overseer want my response?”

“Three days,” Madeline said.

Kent mulled it over. “I’ll let you know.”

With that, she sighed and stood from the table. “If you’re interested in the offer, Mr. Macintyre will be having a short meeting with you and the other candidates this Friday. He will expect you at his office that day at three o’clock. Don’t be late. Good day.”

She headed for the door, leaving Kent alone with his thoughts and the folder.


	2. The Overseer’s Office

When Friday finally came, Kent found himself heading for the Overseer’s office after clocking out of his shift at the power plant. Even if he didn’t buy into this whole “Wastelander Program,” he might as well see what Macintyre had to say. Maybe the man would promise Kent some booze.

The secretary looked up when the door hissed open. Kent recognized her: she was the one who’d harassed him in the bar. What was her name? Madison?

Before Kent could get a good look at the room, which seemed awfully well-decorated compared to the rest of the Vault, the secretary spoke.

“Mr. Kent,” she drawled. “Mr. Macintyre and the other candidates are inside.” She jabbed her pen at the door to the Overseer’s office. “He’d prefer if you didn’t keep them all waiting.”

Kent nodded and hurried in.

Overseer James sat at a fine wooden desk in the middle of the room. His hair was carefully styled, his beard close-trimmed. He wore a tailored suit that fit with the rest of the room while making him stand in stark contrast to everyone else’s blue-and-yellow jumpsuits.

Behind him was a high-backed chair at a semicircular desk covered in controls. A bank of screens showed views of various locations all around the Vault: the bunks, the pumping station, the power plant, the cafeteria, the diner, the bar, the gym, the hospital, the lab…

Overseer James stood as Kent walked in. “And this must be Mr. David Kent!” he announced cheerily, waving a hand in Kent’s direction.

The two other Dwellers in the room turned around to face Kent. They were both shockingly young — Kent would’ve bet all of his caps that neither of them were a day over thirty.

One was a thin man with ears that stuck out sideways and a pair of clever, if nervous, eyes. He smiled at Kent, looking more like an eager little dog than a candidate for the wasteland.

The other was a woman with sensibly-cut brown hair and a shrewd gaze. Kent doubted she was the type to miss anything. Whereas the young man had smiled at Kent, the woman only looked him up and down suspiciously.

Kent decided he liked her chances in the wasteland better than the boy’s.

“Mr. Kent, this is Edward Mason and Samantha Ford,” said the Overseer. “Mr. Mason, Ms. Ford, David Kent.”

Edward offered a hand that Kent didn’t take. Samantha simply gave a nod, which Kent returned.

Overseer James grinned as introductions were made, then sat down again and offered seats to the three.

“Now that you’re all here, we can get started. I’m sure you’ve all read the files that Ms. Tate gave you, so unless you have any questions, I’ll get right into the details.

“Your job as Wastelanders will be challenging — there’s no getting around that. You’ll be asked to search for rare materials, travel through dangerous territory, and fight for your lives.”

Here, the Overseer’s cheery demeanor faded into a more subdued tone. He lowered his voice and said:

“Often, you’ll have to kill.”

Edward was visibly shaken. He tensed in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. Samantha was unreadable, her face grim and determined.

Kent had known this was coming. Macintyre could dress this up all he wanted, but this Wastelander job was just like being a Raider for the Vault.

“Despite this, the rewards will be great,” the Overseer continued, back to his regular exuberance. “While you’re not technically being paid for this work, you will receive substantial rewards.

”Firstly, you will not be required to wear Vault-regulation jumpsuits, in or out of the Vault. Second, you’ll each get your own private living quarters — Overseer Standard, no less. You’ll also get to keep one tenth of any caps you find, and we’ll take the weapons and armor you collect and equip you with the best that we have. Additionally, you’ll each receive an extra ration of food and water.”

Kent spoke up. “What about booze?” he said.

Had to take care of the important stuff.

Macintyre grinned warmly. “Sorry, Mr. Kent, but any alcohol in the Vault will still be obtainable only by purchasing it with caps.”

Damn.

Prompted by Kent’s input, Samantha piped up as well. “Will we still have to work in the Vault when we’re not on missions?”

“Not at all,” said Macintyre. “You’ll remain on call for Wastelander jobs, but if you choose to accept this opportunity, it will be your full-time occupation. You won’t have to work a single shift at the Vault.”

Samantha’s eyes lit up hungrily at this.

“Are there any other questions?” The Overseer looked at Edward expectantly.

The young man hesitated. “Uh... When do we start?”

Macintyre laughed. “Good man!” he said. “Straight to the point. Training starts Monday — all you have to do to accept the job is show up here at eight a.m. sharp. In five weeks, you’ll receive your first assignment.”

Kent looked around the room. Samantha was mulling it over, weighing options and risks in her head. He could practically see the gears turning. Edward looked like he had already decided and was trying to work up the courage to say yes. But Kent…

This job would be good. Better than the power plant, and with much better compensation. He had experience with this line of work. He was good at it. He knew the wasteland.

But did he want to kill again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised trauma, and don’t worry; I’m getting to it. You’ll just have to wait a little bit.


	3. Training, pt. 1

Samantha Ford arrived at the Overseer’s office early Monday morning. When she got there, she saw a tall, athletic man with dark skin and buzzed hair. Instead of the standard-issue blue-and-yellow Vault jumpsuit Sam wore, he was dressed in a security officer’s uniform, with a 10mm pistol on his hip and a hefty baton to go with it. The man didn’t speak until the other two candidates arrived a few minutes later.

“Alright, you three,” the man said in a deep, smooth voice. “Welcome to training. For the next five weeks, I’m in charge of your sorry asses, and it’s my job to whip you into shape. You are to address me as ‘Sergeant’ or ‘sir.’ Do I make myself clear?”

Sam nodded firmly. Edward bobbed his head up and down. David gave a noncommittal grunt.

The sergeant scowled and pulled out his baton, smacking it in one hand. “I said, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” they all said.

Sam wasn’t sure if he would actually hit them, but she didn’t want to find out.

* * *

Two weeks later, Sam was sore and bruised and tired, and she felt glorious. Sarge was pushing the group to their limits and then throwing them a good mile further. She felt stronger, faster, and tougher.

The two weeks had been filled with rigorous drills and exercises. On their third day, Sarge had subjected them all to a rigorous combat test. He’d told them he didn’t expect any of them to pass. David had surprised them all and come the closest, but in the end, he’d taken a solid gut punch and heaved up his breakfast.

Today, they were finally going to the shooting range. Sam had never fired a gun before, so she had no idea what to expect. David, on the other hand, looked almost grim. Maybe he’d had a bad experience with guns? Eddie was the only one who seemed excited in any way, and even he couldn’t control the shaking in his hands.

Sarge lectured them for what felt to be about an hour on gun safety before letting them step onto the range. Sam was up first. She was given a basic 10mm pistol and placed twenty yards from a target shaped like a human from the waist up, with one circle of concentric rings centered on its chest and another, smaller circle centered on its head.

“Remember to take your time,” Sarge said. “Relax and breath. You’ve got twelve shots. Fire when ready.”

After taking a few moments to mentally go over her training, Sam zeroed in on the target’s chest. She held her breath and squeezed…

The shot went wide, hitting the wood the target was painted on, but not the target itself.

Sam released her breath, cursing inwardly and lining up the shot once more. The bullet went wide again, but not as wide as her last.

In the end, she made two shots, both of which grazed the target’s left shoulder. The other shots were clustered around that same area, each only about an inch from one another.

She handed the pistol off to Sarge, who congratulated her and gave some quick advice.

“Kent! You’re up!” he shouted, reloading the pistol with impressive speed. He gestured towards a second target that stood next to Sam’s.

David approached Sarge with a hard expression, accepting the offered pistol and taking his place at the firing line.

* * *

His hands did not tremble. His heart did not race. His breath did not catch. More than thirty years in the Wasteland had left him well-acquainted with guns, and pistols were his weapon of choice; there was no reason for him to be nervous.

When he aimed at the target, though, something changed.

It wasn’t a piece of wood anymore. The target was gone, and so was he; the Vault disappeared around him, replaced with desert heat and harsh sun. In front of him stood a man with sallow skin and wild eyes.

Kent froze in place. He couldn’t shoot this man. He had killed so many times before, but this was one person he could not kill. To do so was unthinkable.

The man screamed - an inhuman noise - and sprinted towards Kent, brandishing a length of rebar.

He had no choice.

In a matter of seconds, shots rang out, and the man’s body lay sprawled on the ground. Blood began to pool in the dust, shining in the sun, condemning him.

What had Kent done?

The body disappeared. The desert faded, leaving Kent in the Vault once more. The target was nothing more than wood with holes.

He dropped the gun, wiping sweat from his cheeks.

* * *

Sam didn’t know what it was she had just seen. One moment, David had been holding the gun, perfectly calm. The next, twelve shots had been fired, and David was shaking, looking like he had seen a ghost.

She looked at the target and noticed how many of the shots had hit the mark. Other than two barely missed shots, all of the holes were clustered on the target’s head. How could he have done that so easily? No one could be that good.

David walked away from the firing line, wordlessly handing the pistol to Sarge. Sarge reloaded it again and dismissed him.

“Mason, you’re up.”

Eddie, seemingly unaffected by David’s actions, took his position in front of the third target. But Sam couldn’t take her mind off of the event so easily.

Clearly, something had happened in David’s past that had caused him to act that way. The average person didn’t shake like that after shooting a target, and they certainly weren’t so accurate. David wasn’t born in the Vault -- Sam knew that much. So what had the Wasteland done to him?

And what would it do to her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you there was trauma.


End file.
